Laura had never eaten food like this before. No: she had never eaten before. It was as if these flavours had always existed, had always been there in her imagination, but now she was tasting them properly for the first time. Each course was more intense than the last. The spaghetti was coated in a thick sauce of meat and wine; rich pungent and sticky. The lamb, by contrast, was pink and sweet, so tender it seemed to dissolve in the mouth. It was served without vegetables, but afterwards Tommaso brought the first of the contorni to the table: a whole artichoke, slathered in warm olive oil and lemon juice and sprinkled with chopped mint. Laura licked every drop of oil off her fingers, amazed by the intensity of the flavour. Her stomach kept telling her it was full, stretched to bursting point, but her appetite kept telling her she could take a little more, just another mouthful, until she felt quite dizzy with the excessiveness of it all.
Capella, Anthony. (2005) The food of love. Time Warner Books: London
"I can make a meal out of anything," Mom told her friends proudly. She liked to brag about "Everything Stew," a dish invented while she was concocting a casserole out of a two-week-old turkey carcass. (The fact that my mother confessed to cooking with two-week-old turkey says a lot about her.) She put the turkey and a half can of mushroom soup into the pot. Then she began rummaging around in the refrigerator. She found some leftover broccoli and added that. A few carrots went in, and then a half carton of sour cream. In a hurry, as usual, she added green beans and cranberry sauce. And then, somehow, half an apple pie slipped into the dish. Mom looked momentarily horrified. Then she shrugged and said, "Who know? Maybe it will be good." And she began throwing everything in along with it - leftover pâté, some cheese ends, a few squishy tomatoes. Reichl, Ruth (2000) Tender at the bone: growing up at the table. Sue Hines Books: St Leonards.
Image from Chocolatesuze
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Laura had never eaten food like this before. No: she had never eaten before. It was as if these flavours had always existed, had always been there in her imagination, but now she was tasting them properly for the first time. Each course was more intense than the last. The spaghetti was coated in a thick sauce of meat and wine; rich pungent and sticky. The lamb, by contrast, was pink and sweet, so tender it seemed to dissolve in the mouth. It was served without vegetables, but afterwards Tommaso brought the first of the contorni to the table: a whole artichoke, slathered in warm olive oil and lemon juice and sprinkled with chopped mint. Laura licked every drop of oil off her fingers, amazed by the intensity of the flavour. Her stomach kept telling her it was full, stretched to bursting point, but her appetite kept telling her she could take a little more, just another mouthful, until she felt quite dizzy with the excessiveness of it all.Capella, Anthony. (2005) The food of love. Time Warner Books: London
"I can make a meal out of anything," Mom told her friends proudly. She liked to brag about "Everything Stew," a dish invented while she was concocting a casserole out of a two-week-old turkey carcass. (The fact that my mother confessed to cooking with two-week-old turkey says a lot about her.) She put the turkey and a half can of mushroom soup into the pot. Then she began rummaging around in the refrigerator. She found some leftover broccoli and added that. A few carrots went in, and then a half carton of sour cream. In a hurry, as usual, she added green beans and cranberry sauce. And then, somehow, half an apple pie slipped into the dish. Mom looked momentarily horrified. Then she shrugged and said, "Who know? Maybe it will be good." And she began throwing everything in along with it - leftover pâté, some cheese ends, a few squishy tomatoes.
Reichl, Ruth (2000) Tender at the bone: growing up at the table. Sue Hines Books: St Leonards.